


Dark Sails

by Dragon_Dweller



Category: Black Sails, Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: AU - Crossver, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Black Sails - Freeform, Black Sails Crossover, Black Sails Spoilers, Black Sails/Poldark Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Golden Age of Piracy, M/M, Nassau, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Piracy, Pirates, Poldark Crossover, Set sails, Spanish Man o' war, Urca de Lima, Wheal Leisure, crack ship, crackship, poldark - Freeform, ships, walrus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Dweller/pseuds/Dragon_Dweller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross took up his Uncle's suggestion of leaving Cornwall and mining, but instead of studying at school, he became a pirate. Four years after leaving Cornwall, Ross Poldark is the Captain of his own ship, Wheal Leisure, and lays anchor in the Caribbean Island of Nassau to trade the goods he and his men have pirated. Once there, he meets the infamous Captain James Flint, who's looking for a partner in his hunt for the Urca de Lima and sets his eyes, not only on Poldark's ship and men, but possibly Poldark himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I heard the Aidan Turner and Toby Stephens were going to be in "And Then There Were None" together I've gotten this FanFic idea in my head where Captain Poldark and Captain Flint cross paths, what happens on the path, I haven't figured out yet, so it's gunna be an interesting journey.

Flint sat in Eleanor's office in the bar in Nassau, he glared at the blond girl as she rambled about the misfortunes of the island since he was away pursuing the _Andromache_ to get the cannons from Captain Bryson that he was rightfully owed to pursue the Urca de Lima.

“So,” he interrupted, pressing his fingertips to his temple in frustration. “Have you found me another crew and ship to aid in the capture of the Urca?” he asked, looking at her.

“I've scoured the entire island for them, but Vane has everyone so far under his thumb since he took over Hornigold's place, that none of them will agree to do it.” Eleanor told him, with a sigh.

“Fucking Vane.” Flint growled, scowling. “I nee---”

A knock sounded on the office doors before Mr. Scott entered. “Ms. Guthrie, there is a new ship in the harbor, they wish to speak with who's in charge to discuss trading their goods.” he informed her.

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Scott.” Eleanor nodded, taking up her coat and following him out into the bar area without a glance at Flint, who scowled even more before jerking out of his seat angrily.

Following Eleanor at a distance, Flint cast his eyes into the harbor for the new ship docked with the horde of other pirate ships in the bay. Flint's mouth nearly dropped into the sand seeing the ship sitting docked, it was Ship of the Line naval warship, Flint couldn't recall, no, wait. He could recall the last time he saw one. The day he and Miranda fled London, they passed it as it was anchored in the harbor. Shaking his head and pushing the memory away, Flint's eyes moved away from the ship and scanned the beach for either Gates or Billy, but only found Silver. Letting out a heavy sigh, Flint made his way over to the cook.

“Silver, where's Gates?” He barked.

“I haven't seen him.” Silver answered, looking up from peeling potatoes.

“Billy?”

“Haven't seen him since he stuck me with peeling these damn potatoes.”

Flint's shoulders slumped, but squared a moment later. “Do you see that ship over there?” He asked, pointing to the new ship.

“Yeah, who couldn't?” Silver replied with a dry sass.

“I want you to find out who the Captain is and tell them where to find me.” Flint ordered, turning on his heels and heading off the beach again.

“And where does he exactly find you?!” Silver yelled back, but got no reply. “Right.” he sighed, looking back to the Ship of the Line. “Apparently I have to read everyone's mind, that's how.” he complained, tossing the half peeled potato and peeling knife onto the table beside him. “Randall, I'll be back.”

“He be lazy.” Randall croaked at his feline as Silver marched himself towards the ship.

“Hello!” Silver smiled, waving to a sailor that had just gotten out of the row boat from the ship of Flint's interest. “A word?” he asked.

The sailor gave Silver a dirty look, spat in the sand and stood rooted in his place, his huge tanned arms crossed over his chest. “What ye want?” he asked in a poor English accent.

“To know who and where I can find your Captain.” Silver said. “I'm looking to join a crew and I liked the looks of yours.” He lied, finding it probably be the fastest way of finding the Captain.

“He's Poldark.” The Sailor answered. “He went ta the bar wit that blond woman ta talk trade.”

“Ah, thanks much and hope to sail with you soon.” Silver said, nodding his head politely with a tight smile and headed off towards the bar. “Hey,” Silver whispered to Max as he entered the bar, scanning the room for an unfamiliar face. “There's a new Captain on the island, a...” he paused trying to remember the name. “A Poldark, have you seen him?”

Max paused for a moment then pointed out a man wearing a black tricorn hat, standing at the bar sipping a drink. “That's him.” She whispered back.

“Thanks.” Silver nodded, slipping past her and into the slot of space between the wanted Captain and another pirate at the bar. “Whiskey, please.” Silver ordered, leaning his elbow on the bar, his body turned towards his objective.

“That's a nice ship you got anchored out there,” he commented out loud, not really looking at the Captain. “What's it called?”

“Wheal Leisure.” The Captain answered, tossing back his drink.

Silver nodded, impressed with the name. “I was wandering if you were interested in--”

“I'm not taking anyone else onto my crew.” The Captain interrupted him, raising a warning eyebrow as he looked at Silver, sideways.

“Oh, no.” Silver proclaimed, standing up straight. “I wasn't looking for a ship or a Captain, I have one. But I was wandering if you were interested in a proposition, a little--” he stopped to think about the right wording to use without giving anything away too soon and having Flint run a sword through him. “ _Rum_ chasing, if you get my meaning.”

“And what kind of _Rum_ are we exactly talking about?” the other man asked.

“Ah,” Silver grinned, seeing that he'd baited his fish. “That's for you and my Captain to discuss. I was just sent here to see if you were interested and to show you the way.”

The Captain looked around, as if anticipating an ambush. Looking back towards the bar, he ordered another shot, downed it and slammed his payment down on the bar top. “Lead the way.” he growled in an authoritative voice.

“Right!” Silver grinned, his eyes widening and sparkling with opportunity, as he turned and led the way out of the bar, down the byway and out to a house on the shore just outside the main area of Nassau.

When they arrived, Flint was standing on the front porch of the house, his arms crossed over his chest and eying the other Captain, sizing him up. Silver and the other Captain stopped up in front of the porch, looking up at Flint.

“Flint, this is Captain Ross Poldark of the ship, _Wheal Leisure_.” Silver introduced him. “Captain Ross Poldark, the infamous Captain James Flint of the _Walrus_.”

“A pleasure.” Captain Poldark replied, stepping up and extending his hand to Flint.

“We'll see.” Flint answered, taking up the offered hand in a rough handshake. “You can get lost now, Silver.” he said, turning his back and going inside the house. “Captain Poldark and I have things to discuss.”

“Right.” Silver frowned, deflated, he'd hoped he'd be able to stay and listen.

Silver gone, Poldark followed Flint inside the house and swept off his hat. “Your man tells me you have a _proposition_ for me.” He said, cutting to the chase.

“Yes, I do.” Flint nodded, leaning back against a wooden table and looking Poldark over. He could tell by his voice, his accent, that he'd been educated formally, much like he had himself, and that he was from England. “Where is it you're from?” he asked.

“Cornwall.” Poldark replied, already making the same connections Flint had. “You?”

“London.” Flint answered, flatly. “What's an educated man doing as a pirate, and given your hat, you were a soldier at some point.”

“I was, but after serving and coming home to nothing, I took my Uncle's proposition of another course of life, other than owning and running a mine, and took to the seas.”

“From mining to piracy.” Flint chuckled, amused. “How far the scales tip.”

“Could say the same to you.” Poldark countered, a stony expression hardening his face.

“You know nothing of my life or what's happened in it.” Flint snapped in a whisper.

“And you know none of mine.” Poldark growled back. “What is your _proposition_ , Captain?”

“Have you ever heard of the Urca De Lima?” Flint asked, pushing off the table and walking over a bookshelf.

“It's a Spanish Man o' War.” Poldark answered, cockily.

Flint paused in glancing at the books and looked at the other Captain over his shoulder, his face unreadable, but his eyes showing a sliver of surprise. “Exactly. It also carries five million dollars worth of money and cargo.” He told him, slipping a book off the shelf, an air of almost uninterested confidence about him as he opened the book.

Poldark blinked, surprised. “Why are you telling _me_ this?” he asked, frowning confused.

“I need another ship, crew and Captain to ally with me in taking out the two ships that protect the Urca and secure the Urca and its gold afterward.” Flint explained, running his fingers down a page of the book.

“And you want it to be me and my men?” Poldark summed up, raising a skeptical eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. “What's in it for us?” he asked.

“A portion of the gold, a safe place here in Nassau to trade your goods in.” Flint answered, and looked up at Poldark, their eyes meeting. “and call home.”


	2. II.

“I have a place to call home.” Poldark said, almost coldly.

“Oh?” Flint replied, with mock surprise.

“My ship.”

Flint grinned, setting the book down on the table. “Well, a home away from home, then.” he quipped, moving back to where he had leaned against the table.

“When do you wish to make head for the Urca?” Poldark asked, turning his professional mode on.

“Well, there's a few other things I have to deal with before I can make way.” Flint answered, crossing his arms again. “So, a month at the latest.”

Poldark nodded, “That' good, I have a run I have to make in Cooper's town.” he informed the other Captain. “I and my crew should be back--”

“In a week, if all goes well.” Flint answered, nodding his head, already lost in thought. “I've made the run before.” he added, not needing to look at Poldark to see the questioning look on his face. “If you're not back within a week and a half, I'll take your answer as no.” he said, standing up and extending his arm to the other.

Poldark stared at Flint for a moment, before slowly taking his hand, there was a vibe coming off the pirate that Poldark couldn't place, it just alluded him as he tried to put his thumb on it, but he put it down as it being the first time he had dealings with him.

“Deal.” He agreed, shaking Flint's hand, firmly. “Now, if you pardon me, I have to finish trade with Ms. Guthrie and ready my men to set sail in the morning.” Poldark nodded his head politely at Flint, putting his hat back on and taking his leave.

Flint watched Poldark walk away, standing in his place for a moment before moving to stand in front of the large window, watching the figure of Poldark disappear around the bend and back into Nassau. Flint let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair.

“What were you thinking, James.” he mumbled to himself, turning his back to the window and the long gone Poldark. His eyes landing on the book he had picked up. “You're a fool.” he growled at himself, angrily taking up the book and cramming it back onto the bookshelf.

-

It had almost been a week since Flint watched _Wheal Leisure_ and her captain sail off for Cooper's town. He'd made his office from the Walrus on the beach with his crew as the ship was careened in the preparation of taking on the Urca. He'd just sat down back to his desk after saving Silver's ass when he served the crew a raw pig, when he saw a row boat land on the beach and two of the men from it jumped out and frantically waved to some sailors near by to them. He watched in modest interest before casting his eyes out to the harbor and seeing the _Wheal Leisure_ being hastily anchored. Flint's eyes shot back in time to see the men of the row boat hoist a man out of the row boat and turn to carry him up the beach, instantly giving Flint a sight of Captain Poldark. Alarm rushed through Flint as he jumped up from his seat and ran up the beach to the men.

“What happened to him?” Flint demanded, his eyes looking Poldark over.

“What's it to you?” One of the men along side the two carrying Poldark, snapped.

“I have an interest and agreement with this man, and him being alive, is one of them!” Flint bark back.

“The ship came under attack,” one of the men carrying Poldark answered. “He was injured in the battle.”

“He needs attention, or he'll bleed to death.” the other man carrying him chimed in.

“There isn't a stable enough doctor on this damn island, bring him this way!” Flint ordered, starting slightly a head of the men.

The two men carrying Poldark looked at the other one, who happened to be Ross's Quartermaster and just nodded his go head to them to follow Flint, to the house from the week before. Flint shoved open the door of the house and hastily lead them upstairs to an empty bedroom, motioning for them to lay Poldark down on the bed, before rushing downstairs to the kitchen and taking out an arm load of clean linen bandages, gauze, antiseptic, sewing thread and a needle with a bottle of rum.

“What are you doing?” the Quartermaster demanded as Flint passed him on the stairs.

“Saving his life!” Flint yelled back. “Get out of the fucking way!” he barked at the two men hovering over Poldark as he set the things in his arms down on the bedside table.

Flint noted a laceration on his left eyebrow, he quickly checked it and decided it could be stitched up later, and moved on to the next thing, the blood soaking through his top coat. He pulled open the coat and involuntarily winced as he pulled up his long shirt and saw a gash on his chest.

“Is it bad?” the Quartermaster asked, leaning over Flint's shoulder.

“He's got a giant gash in his fucking chest, you tell me!” Flint barked, angrily. “How did this happen!?” He demanded, hastily ripping Poldark's shirt open to have better access to the wound, before moving to the first aid supplies he brought.

“We were boarded.” The Quartermaster answered, watching Flint work. “And Captain Poldark got into a battle, with the rest of us, and one of the attackers broadsided him in the face and tried to run him through. I tried to interfere, but in doing so, the assailant's sword slashed across the Captain's chest.” he explained.

“How did you make it back?” Flint asked, pouring some of the antiseptic onto a piece of gauze and turning back to Poldark.

“The crew managed to overthrow the attackers and take over our ship again, while I and another crew member, Mr. Bates here,” he said, motioning to one of the men standing by. “got Captain Poldark into his cabin, safely.”

“We tried to stop the bleeding the best we could.” Mr. Bates added in, looking vastly concerned and worried about his Captain.

“Takes more than pressing a dirty hand to a heavily bleeding chest wound.” Flint chided them, with a nasty look to them.

The three men unconsciously looked down at their hands, at each other and then back to Flint, who was taking the antiseptic damp gauze to Poldark's wound, trying to be mindful of the painful sting that was coming to the already painful area. But despite that, Poldark gasped, his hand coming up and grasping Flint's wrist in a strong grip, trying to yank his hand and the gauze away from the wound.

“It's alright, Poldark.” Flint whispered to him, letting Poldark pull his arm away a bit. “I have to clean the wound, so I can stitch it up.” he explained to him.

“Fl-Flint...?” Poldark whimpered, gulping down the thick saliva in his mouth.

“Yeah, Poldark.” Flint nodded.

“How..?”

“You're in Nassau, you're men saved you and steered your ship back to the island and I'm trying to save your life.” He farther explained to him. “Here, let's get some rum into you.” He said, grabbing the bottle of rum from the side table and uncorking it. “Easy goes.”

Poldark picked his head up enough for Flint to hold the rim of the rum bottle to his lips and gulp down a few swallows. “Thanks.” he panted, dropping his head back to the pillow. “Zacky?” He mumbled, wincing as the pain in his chest worsened with his breathing.

“Yes, sir?” the Quartermaster answered, taking a step forward. “Right here, sir.”

“How's the ship?” Poldark asked, opening his eyes to look at the Quartermaster. “Is she bad?”

“I hadn't the time to look her over yet, to account for all the damages,” Zacky informed him. “But I doubt she'll sink.”

“I can't have her sink, Zacky. Not after all the trouble of getting her.” Poldark lamented, staring up at the ceiling.

Flint looked around the room, eyes narrowed slightly. “Why don't you go and take stock of the ship's damages and care for the crew.” he told the three. “He'll be fine here, if I can get that blood to stop.”

The three men stared at Flint for a moment, then to Poldark, who was staring at Flint before nodding, he knew that he wouldn't be able to move anywhere if the wound was as bad as it felt, and he didn't want to piss of his host and doctor. Three men nodded, Zacky promising to come back just after sun down to tell him the news on the ship and crew, and then made their leave.

“Is it bad?” Ross asked through gritted teeth, as Flint went back to cleaning up the wound.

“It'll take a good few stitches to close it up, along with the gash on your eye.” Flint answered, seating himself on the edge of the bed and picking up the needle and thread. “You won't be up for much for a while until it heals.” he explained, threading the needle. “So, that blows my plan for the Urca.”

“I am sorry.” Poldark frowned. “You should just find another crew.” he said.

“No, I took you on as a deal, and I don't break my deals.” Flint replied, splashing a bit of antiseptic onto the needle. “Here, gulp down some more rum and I'll close the gash up.” he ordered, lightly, handing the rum bottle to him.

“Are you any good with that thing?” Poldark asked, motioning to the needle between gulps of rum.

“Better than many on this island.” Flint answered, leaning over Poldark's wound. “Try not to move too much.” He added, as he started to sew him up.

Poldark winced, jerking some as pain shot through him, one hand gripping the bed frame and the other flying out to grip Flint's shoulder in a death grip. “Jesus God!” He barked through clenched teeth.

Flint glanced up at him for a moment, taking in his pain twisted face, his eyes squeezed shut, before looking back to his work. After what felt like an eternity to Poldark, Flint tied off the stitches and cut off the excess. “There, wasn't so bad.” He said, offering an encouraging smile.

“Jesus, that's easy for you to fucking say.” Poldark snapped, picking up his head and looking over Flint's handiwork. “But you did do a decent job.”

“Well, I've done it once or twice.” Flint answered, washing his hands with some of the antiseptic in a water basin.

“Is this your house.” Poldark asked, looking up at Flint as he dried his hands.

“It is now.” Flint answered, staring at the wall.

“What's that suppose to mean?” Poldark frowned.

“It belonged to a very good friend of mine.” Flint answered, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “She passed away a few weeks ago, and she'd left the house to me in the will.” he explained.

“How'd she die?” Poldark asked, unable to stop his curiosity.

“She was killed in a dispute with someone that should have also been a friend.” Flint answered, setting his jaw. “But only turned out to be the cause of all our trouble and misfortunes.”

Poldark licked his lips, sensing he'd poked a little too far into the Captain's past. “Do-Do you have a...a outhouse?” he asked, just now realizing how full his bladder was.

Flint blinked back his painful memories and turned his attention to Poldark. “Yeah, its out back.” he answered. “Do you think you can make it?” he asked, looking Poldark over.

“I think so.” Poldark replied, gingerly starting to sit up before wincing and holding his ribs.

Flint came forward, resting a hand on Poldark's shoulder and carefully pushing aside his hand on his ribs and lightly feeling them, unconsciously wincing as Poldark did. “Looks like you have a cracked rib or two.” he observed, gingerly feeling the other side of Ross's torso.

“Must have been when I fell back and hit the deck.” Poldark said through a wince.

“Here.” Flint said, carefully wrapping one of Poldark's arms around his neck and putting an arm around his back and under his arms. “I'll help you.”

Nodding, Poldark let Flint support some of his weight and sit him up before pulling him up onto his feet. The pair paused at the edge of the bed, letting some of the pain in Poldark calm down before shuffling sideways out of the bedroom door, carefully down the stairs, through the living room and kitchen, and finally out back to the outhouse. Flint stared out at the ocean and the setting sun, while Poldark relieved himself. His thoughts were conflicted and confused, he hadn't felt this way in years, since Tho--

“I'm finished.” Poldark called, propping himself up on the outhouse wall and pulling his trousers back on.

“Alright.” Flint nodded, opening the outhouse door. “I was thinking of getting some supper going after we got back in, you think you can eat?” he asked, supporting Poldark back into the house.

“I'm sure I can.” He answered. “I'm starved.” he said as he settled back in bed.

“Then, I'll get something going.” Flint nodded as a knock sounded on the front door.

“Probably Zacky.” Poldark said, glancing out the window to see what time it was.

“I'll let him in and get to work on something to eat, while you talk.” Flint said, turning on his heels and going downstairs, pulling open the front door. “He's upstairs, try not to work him up, all he needs to do it pull those stitches.” he told the other man, as he closed the door behind him and headed towards the kitchen.

Zacky climbed the stairs and knocked on Poldark's half closed bedroom door. “Ross?” he called, pushing open the door open some.

“Come on in, Zacky.” Poldark called back, propping himself up against the headboard and his pillow. “How's Wheal Leisure?” He asked, a bit more than worried about his prized ship.

“She took a good bit of damage.” Zacky told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We'll have to beach her to patch a canon hole in the side and stitch, if not replace, a main sail.”

Poldark sighed heavily, turning his head to look out the window. “It'll take days, if not weeks, for that kind of work.” he said, more to himself. “And with my injuries, _months_.”

“Aye, that's true.” Zacky nodded, pressing his lips together. “But we ain't got no choice. With you laid up and all, we can't do much, even if the ship was in working order.”

“I know.” Poldark said, sighing again and lulling his head against the wall to look at Zacky again. “I doubt I'll be strong enough, or out of the woods well enough, to leave here for a few days, so I'm leaving you in charge of the crew and the ship. I trust your judgment, so I won't need you running here for every issue, unless it's major.” he explained. “And I'll call for you, if I need you, just the same.”

“Will do, Mr. Ross.” Zacky nodded, his agreement.

“Is there anything else you need?” Poldark asked.

“It's I that should be asking _you_ that, Ross.” Zacky chuckled.

“I'll be fine, I always am.” Ross grinned, suppressing a laugh.

“That's true.” Zacky laughed more. “You always land on your feet, Ross. Every since you were a kid, giving Joshua trouble.”

“The trouble I'd be givin' him now, if he knew I was a pirate!” Ross laughed lightly, pressing a hand to his bandaged chest.

“He'd be mighty surprised, and a bit upset, but he'd still love you, all the same.”

Poldark nodded, solemnly. “You should get goin', Zacky.” He said, looking at him. “You know how the men like to snap free if they think they have a free moment.”

“Aye, that's even truer.” Zacky sighed, slapping his hands onto his knees as he stood up and headed for the door.

“Zacky.” Poldark called softly, looking at the other man as he turned back around to look at him. “What do you think of Flint?” he asked, earnestly. “Honestly.”

Zacky frowned, pulling his hat off his head, running a hand through his hair and putting his hat back on. “He seems well enough.” he answered, frowning harder down at the floor like the answer was there. “He did help patch you up without issue or lookin' for payment. But as a whole, he seems like a good and honest man, though I could be wrong. Don't know him well enough.”

Poldark nodded, looking away from Zacky in thought. “Thanks, Zacky.”

“Anytime, Ross.” the other answered, and left.

-

A short time later, Flint knocked on Poldark's door and walked in when Poldark called for him to enter, carrying a bowl of something steamy and a plate of bread on a little bed tray. Poldark pulled himself up into a sitting position the best he could, so Flint could set the tray over his lap.

“Looks good.” He said, nodding with appreciation to Flint.

“It's the best I could do without a woman to help.” Flint answered, handing Poldark his silverware. “When you're done, or need anything else, just call.” he said, heading back downstairs where he'd set up his meal at the table.

The house was quiet for a time as Flint and Poldark ate in their areas of the house, but the silence was broken with Poldark calling out to Flint downstairs. Pushing his bowl way from him, Flint got up and trekked up to Poldark's room, slowly pushing the door open.

“Yes?”

Poldark blinked uneasily, biting the inside of his lip. “You just gunna eat all on your own?” he asked, looking at the red head from the corner of his eyes, letting the question hang in the air.

Flint looked at Poldark, squared his shoulders, turned on his heels and left the door way. Poldark looked out the door, a bit dejected. But moments later, Flint returned, carrying his dinner in one hand and a chair in the other. He set his dinner on the bedside table and seated himself in front of it, silently resuming his meal.

“Ross.” Poldark said after a tense moment.

Flint straightened himself up and turned his head towards him. “Beg pardon?”

“Ross.” He said again, more firmly and confidently.

Flint eyed him for a second. “James.” He replied, extending a hand to him.

Ross smiled and shook James's hand. “Thanks for patching me up.”

Flint gave him a crooked grin. “Hopefully it'll be the only time.”

Formalities aside, the two went back to finishing their dinners, talking politely with one another before Flint figured he should let Poldark rest. He cleared away the dishes and tray, helped Ross make one last bathroom trip for the night and made sure he had an extra blanket. He left Poldark's room door a little less than half open and left his own door completely open before readied himself to sleep and crawled into bed, an arm folded behind his head and staring out his bedroom window, thoughts clouding his mind.


	3. III.

Poldark took a deep breath as he woke up the next morning, opening his eyes and looking out the bright bedroom window. The house was quiet and undisturbed as he rolled over onto his back, mindful of his stitches. He felt a lot better after a good night's rest, the pain in his chest subsiding, but still having a slight throb in his skull from the blow to his head and soreness in his ribs. He hadn't realized he'd dozed back off until he heard the front door close. Blinking, he carefully got out of bed and stepped out into the hall. Flint's door was closed, so he made his way downstairs and looked around, before going out onto the front pouch.

“What are you doing out here?” Flint's voice called as he came onto the pouch at the end of the house, carrying a pail of water. “You should be resting.”

“Was just wandering where you went.” Poldark answered. “I heard the door close.”

“I just went out to get some fresh water.” Flint told him, stopping in front of him. “How did you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” Poldark nodded. “It was a bit strange not having the rocking of my ship.” he chuckled, lightly.

Flint smiled, dropping his eyes to the porch and nodding. “Yeah, that can take some getting use to after it lulling you to sleep so many nights.” he admitted. “How about some breakfast?” he asked, moving to go through the still open front door.

“Sounds good.” Poldark nodded, his stomach growling in agreement. “Can I help with anything?” he asked.

“Sure.” Flint nodded, setting the pail down. “You can make the pancake batter.” he said, setting the needed ingredients, a bowl and a wooden spoon on the dining table for him.

“Tell me, Flint.” Poldark said as he stirred the batter. “How'd you become a pirate?” he asked, curiously.

“I was a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy, before I was unjustly taken from my position and forced into exile. So, I came to Nassau and became Captain of the _Walrus_.” he explained, taking the ready batter from Ross over to the stove.

“Why'd you get exiled?” Ross asked, shaking his head confused.

“Because politicians are heartless bastards.” Flint snapped, but Poldark knew it wasn't at him. “Here.” He said, plating up the pancakes and setting them on the table. “See how those stitches are doing.”

Nodding, Poldark opened the shirt Zacky had brought him and gently pulling back the bandages from it. Flint knelt in front of him and looked over the stitches, nodding in approval to see they looked good and moved on to check Poldark's ribs, his hand pulling back as Poldark made a small noise.

“No, no.” Ross said, shaking his head. “Doesn't hurt, it...tickles.” he answered, his eyes closed.

Flint looked up at him, his hand moving back to rest on Poldark's side. Ross opened his eyes when Flint don't do anything more, and tilted his head with a questioning look in his eyes. Flint's hand moved up from Ross's side, cradling his neck gently for a moment, before carefully pulling Ross down to him, pushing himself up on his feet a little to meet him, their lips pressing together, not a breath moving between them. Ross leaned in to Flint for a second before panic rose in his mind, stiffening his back and pulling away from Flint, alarm all over his face and in his eyes.

“I think you misunderstood me, James.” he said in an out of breath voice.

Flint's eyes dropped to the floor boards, crushed. He stood up suddenly, took several long strides to the door, yanking his long leather coat off the hanger and walking out, leaving Ross sitting at the table with a half prepared breakfast, confusion and questions. Chewing on his lip, Ross picked up one of the cooling pancakes, eased up out his chair and went back upstairs to his room, in a shocked and confused daze over what had just happened.

-

It was late afternoon by the time Flint returned to the house, having spent a few hours on the beach getting work done and an hour or so at the bar, he wasn't drunk, but a drink or three more and he would have been even more tipsy.

Upstairs, Ross laid in bed, a book in his hand, when he heard the front door open and close, knowing it was Flint. He glanced outside his window as he closed his book. Figuring it was now or never, he got out of bed and carefully went down the stairs, trying not to make a sound. When he got to the bottom step, he saw Flint leaning over the table with a bottle of rum in one hand and a half empty glass in his other hand. Flint heard the steps squeak under Ross's weight, and turned his head towards the other man, but didn't say anything.

What could either man say to the other about, or after, what had happened.

Gulping and shifting the book in his hand to the other one, Ross opened his mouth. “What does it mean?” he asked, weighing the book in his hand. “The inscription in this book.” he added.

“What inscription?” Flint asked, turning his face away and downing another glass of rum.

Ross opened the book and read the inscription on the inside cover. “ _To James, My dearest love, know no shame. Thomas_.”

Flint's heart stopped on a dime, his hand slowly returning the glass of rum back to the table top. He couldn't breathe, or think or even swallow the mouthful of rum he had in his mouth as he thought about Thomas, _his_ Thomas. The only man he thought he'd love, who he loved more than life itself and missed even more than that. He hadn't realized he'd shed any tears until he felt a gentle thumb against his rum flushed cheek, wipe it away. He blinked, gulping the rum down and moving away from Ross, who now stood beside him, the book sitting on the table.

“Don't.” he warned, just above a whisper.

“I'm sorry.” Ross whispered back, dropping his eyes away.

“You'll never understand.”

“You loved him.” Ross replied, looking back up at him, he _did_ understand.

“More than anything.” Flint growled, emotions lumping up in his throat.

“I can understand that.” Ross whispered, nodding his head.

“A woman.” Flint snapped, almost repulsed.

“No.” Ross shook his head, butterflies in his stomach. “A man.”

“You...” Flint blinked, what Ross said sinking in.

Ross nodded his head again, gulping. “He was my first love, we grew up together.” he whispered, the memories flashing through his mind. “But,...it was a lie. He only did it to use it against me, cause my family has a two hundred year old name, and his, he was just the son of Blacksmith. So, to cover it up, I started a romance with a woman, Elizabeth, I lied to myself about loving her so much I was going to marry her, when I returned from the war. But when I did, she had married my cousin.” He confessed, taking a deep breath and straightened up.

“But...” Flint frowned, rethinking what happened between them that morning. “What happened this morning...” He blinked with surprise, as it hit him. “You called me by my name..”

“I did.” Ross nodded.

“So you...?”

“I do.”

“Then, why would you say that?” Flint yelled, hurt. “I opened myself up to you, I showed you something that could have been catastrophic to me, my crew, my life here and all you say is; I misunderstood you!”

“I was afraid, James.” Ross murmured.

A shock wave went through Flint hearing Ross say his name again. “Afraid of what?!” he snapped.

“What are _you_ afraid of in this?” Ross snapped back.

Flint's mouth snapped shut at that. He just stood there, staring at the other man, not sure if he wanted to punch him in the face or kiss him all over again. Ross held Flint's glaze for a long time before casting his eyes around the room, and half turning away from Flint.

“There's food in the oven, if you're hungry.” He said, turning his back to Flint completely and going back upstairs to his room.

Rage welling up in Flint, he turned and pounded his fist against the wall, bloodying his knuckles. He paced like a caged animal, tossing back several more glasses of rum and stomping half up the stairs before stopping, turning back around, stomping back down the stairs, going into the kitchen and ripping open the oven and taking out the food Ross had prepared and set it on the counter. Looking around, he took out a fork and ate a good portion of what Ross had made, semi surprised how good it was. Finished eating and putting the food back, Flint quietly made his way up to his room, toed off his boots and crawled into bed, still clothed. He'd almost fallen asleep, when his door creaked open and he looked across at Ross standing in his doorway.

“It's freezing.” The brunette stated, matter of factually.

Flint blinked a few times and then moved over in his bed, pulling back the blankets. Ross crossed the doorway and sat on the edge of the bed, it had been years since he'd slept with another man, and nervous butterflies swarmed around his stomach as he laid down, letting Flint cover him up and moved a tiny bit closer, sharing his body heat with him.

“If,” Flint gulped, propped up on his elbow and looking down at Ross. “If I, uh, get too close, just...tell me.” he said, softly.

“I will.” Ross answered, tucking some of the blanket and his arm against his chest, very aware of Flint's body behind his, his comforting warmth up against his back and Flint's reassuring and protective presence wrapped around him, like the blankets that covered him up.

After a while, they managed to relax and get comfortable with each other and fall asleep. And the next morning, it was Flint, who woke up first, forgetting momentarily that Ross was in bed with him, until he opened his eyes and witnessed the mass of chocolate brown curls at the back of Ross's head right in front of him, inches from his face. Ross was still sound asleep and snoring lightly. Licking his lips, nervously, Flint slowly moved closer to him, his head tilting up just enough to lightly nose Ross's hair, the smell of soap and cleanness filled his senses from his soft hair, Flint's eyes closing in appreciation and awe, and unknowingly moaning out loud and nose Ross's hair a little bit more.

“Is that what it's like to wake up with the infamous Captain Flint?” Ross's voice asked, a hint of amusement lining it.

An embarrassed blush and broad grin came over Flint as he dropped his head down, his forehead resting on the back of Ross's shoulder. “I'm sorry.” he mumbled against his skin. “I-I...I didn't mean to..to wake you.”

“It's alright.” Ross answered, turning to lay on his back and look Flint in the face. “I can think of worse things to wake up too.” he smiled, sweetly.

Flint stared at Ross for a moment before bringing up his hand and lightly tracing the scar on Ross's face and cheek. “How'd you get this?” he asked, quietly.

“When I was away at war,” he answered, his skin tingling under Flint's touch. “I was hit in the face with a rifle, knocked me out and split open my face.” he explained. “Also shattered my ankle.”

“Well, you seemed to have healed well.” Flint commented.

“For the most part.” Ross nodded. “Though, my ankle still troubles me, every now and then.” he said, rolling his injured foot, unconsciously.

Flint nodded his head, but wasn't really listening, as he studying Ross's face. There was something that reminded him of Thomas in Ross, perhaps the continued look of confidence, or the bright eyes full of life. His hand moved to the other side of Ross's face, cupping his cheek gently and turning his face to look at him properly. Ross's breath caught for a moment as he looked Flint in the eyes.

“James.” He whispered, questioningly.

“Ross.” Flint answered, a crooked impish grin touching his lips.

Unable to suppress a smile himself, Ross rolled onto his side facing Flint, his hand reaching up to cup Flint's neck, and kissed him.


End file.
